


The Coup d'Etat

by QueenAng



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Other, Retirement, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenAng/pseuds/QueenAng
Summary: Windblade has, miraculously, convinced* Starscream to retire.*"Convinced" being a matter of opinion.
Relationships: Starscream/Wheeljack (Transformers)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 37





	The Coup d'Etat

Convincing Starscream to finally retire from intergalactic politics was less like espousing the benefits of well-deserved vacation time and more like prying a cyber-cat’s claws out of delicate mesh. The fact Starscream did, in fact, have claws and did, actually, have a desk that turned out to be quite easy to pierce said claws into did not help in the slightest.

“I’m being overthrown,” Starscream bemoaned, as he watched Ironhide try to maneuver his desk out of his office.

Wheeljack gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and Starscream leaned gently into his touch. Wheeljack had discovered some vorns ago that said movements were entirely subconscious for Starscream and came as naturally as venting or plotting Windblade’s downfall.

“Real tragic, that,” Ironhide muttered.

“Don’t you have a subordinate of Windblade’s to drool over?” Starscream hissed.

“You ain’t really my type, Screamer. ’Sides, I’d never do Jackie like that.”

“Me? A subordinate? Do you have any idea how—”

“Hey, Star.” Wheeljack pointedly twisted them until Ironhide was just a red blur in his periphery. “I’ve been thinking about what to do now that we got some free time. What do you think about Velocitron for our first vacation?”

“Anywhere but _Caminus_ ,” Starscream muttered.

The metal of Starscream’s desk screeched as it pushed against his doorframe. Wings hiking, Starscream snapped, “Be careful with that! It’s _vintage_!”

Ironhide took his servos off the desk and stared at it like there was an enigma scratched into its surface. “How did you even get this thing in here?”

“The window, obviously.” Starscream’s wings twitched purposely.

The desk ended up going out the same way it came in, courtesy of an impatient Ironhide.

* * *

Windblade – and, more importantly, her campaign for Empress Perpetua – were absolutely ecstatic to hear the news that Starscream had officially announced his withdrawal from the coming election.

“I don’t trust it,” Chromia said, glaring up at the news feed as the reporter-bots discussed the news. “No way would Starscream forfeit power like this.”

“Oh, believe it,” came a new voice.

Chromia turned around to see Rattrap slinking in through the door to the communal room, hunched forward and glowering. “Don’t you have vents to crawl through?” she asked. “Innocent mechs to spy on?”

“Don’t you have places to blow up?” Rattrap retorted. He sprawled out on top of the centerpiece table like it was a luxury chair. “I’m out of a job over this scrapheap! Starscream gave me some slag about retiring for good and working with Wheeljack in his spare time. I offered to sabotage some other scientists, get their stuff out there first, and he got all tizzy with me!”

“A real shame,” Chromia said, and looked back to the news feed. She could feel Rattrap’s optics piercing her spinal struts. “Is there something you need, Rattrap?”

“Yeah.” A lecherous smile fixed on Chromia. “You guys hiring?”

* * *

Windblade herself was one of the primary driving forces behind Starscream’s early retirement. Starscream called it “pushing him out of the game for her own benefit”. Wheeljack called it “trying to show support for the health of her once-opponent”, and Starscream called that “sympathizing with the enemy”.

Still, Wheeljack silently wished she would curb her enthusiasm slightly, as the more she smiled, the more Starscream scowled, and the more comments she made about her hopes for Starscream’s future, the more explicit Starscream became in his threats back.

Luckily, Windblade had no interest in taking over Starscream’s penthouse hab-suite. It didn’t make sense, given that Wheeljack’s work would have seen them living in another hab in the same building in Iacon.

Windblade had made herself helpful through the whole process. She asked Ironhide to help move the desk from Starscream’s office. She acted as an unmovable barricade between Starscream and Rattrap, lest the other Transformer convince him of another conspiracy. Now, she had arrived unannounced to help move the few boxes of knickknacks from Starscream’s office into his hab.

Starscream had protested, of course. “I don’t want her in our hab!” he snapped, while Windblade had knocked at the door with a confused, “Hello? Are you guys home?”

Wheeljack, at this point, had vorns of experience placating Starscream. That didn’t mean Starscream was any more reasonable. “She’s only trying to help.”

“She’s scouting out our home!” Starscream snapped. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to plan an assassination attempt when you have a basic layout of the home?”

Wheeljack didn’t ask how Starscream knew how easy or difficult planning an assassination was. They made it a long time with few fights because Wheeljack was one of the few bots willing to look past what happened during the war. “So we’ll only let her in your office.”

“Then she’ll know what my office looks like!”

“We can use her to move things in there,” Wheeljack said. “I’ll help you set everything up. She won’t know where anything goes.”

Starscream maintained his scowl, though he had stopped pacing, and Wheeljack took that as a good sign. An upset Starscream was mobile – always in motion, his wings fluttering, claws sheathing and unsheathing. “You promise you’ll make her leave?” he asked. The volume of his screeching had decreased. “You know she’ll want to stay. Make herself helpful.” The last glyph was spat out with a surprising amount of distaste.

“I promise.” Sensing the worst had passed, Wheeljack took a small step toward Starscream, and then another when he didn’t immediately step back and flare his armor. “We’ll make it a date night. Put some candles on the floor, get some high-grade, take our time, set it up just the way you like.”

Starscream’s position became less guarded. He still cast a dark look at the door, but said, “Fine. She can do the heavy-lifting.”

* * *

Bumblebee came to Cybertron much more rarely since he had taken up his position as representative to the Galactic Council. After leading the Autobots on his own, and then Cybertron, the burden of leadership didn’t show on him as harshly. There was a jubilant jump in his step as he reentered the governmental hall of Iacon, cane clicking on the metal floor as he walked.

Of course, his reappearance didn’t go unnoticed by Starscream, and Wheeljack’s lab was greeted by the red seeker before he had a chance to leave and say hello to Bumblebee.

“It’s all part of her plan,” Starscream muttered. “She’s planning a coup.”

“It’s not exactly a coup if you’re retiring,” Wheeljack pointed out.

Starscream acted like he didn’t hear him. “Why else would she be bringing all my old adversaries back to Iacon just as I am getting ready to forfeit power? First Bumblebee, who’s next? Prowl?”

“I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended you rate me on the same scale as Prowl.”

Wheeljack peered around the wide girth of Starscream’s wings. “Bee! Good to see you!” Bee started to take a step forward, and, thinking quickly, Wheeljack said, “Might want to stay over there, buddy. This nuclear bomb is giving me hell trying to put together.” He gestured to the tangle of wires in his servo. To the unsuspecting eye, Metroplex’s optical center might look like something far more nefarious.

Bumblebee gave Starscream a beaming smile. “I’m glad to hear you’re finally retiring, Starscream.”

Wheeljack worried the scowl that crossed over Starscream’s face-plates would soon be lit up by blaster rounds.

Bumblebee’s expression faltered slightly. “That didn’t come out how I meant it. I mean, I’m glad you’re finally retiring. Taking time for yourself and Wheeljack, I mean.” The yellow bot made a helpless gesture. “You know.”

“No,” Starscream deadpanned, “I don’t.”

Before Bumblebee could dig his hole any further and Starscream started firing warning shots, Wheeljack spoke up. “We’re going to Velocitron first,” he said. “They’ve rebuilt some of the old speedways. Everything’s all new and shiny. Tons of engineering museums filled up with the stuff left there.”

“Sounds fun!” Bumblebee said. He leaned on his cane. “The Galactic Council has been running me down to my struts. I kinda envy you.”

Starscream snorted. “Oh, please, tell me more about politics I’m now _barred_ from getting involved in.”

Before Wheeljack could protest that no, Starscream wasn’t actually barred from anything, Bumblebee had started talking animatedly about the various spats he had gotten into in his brief time as representative. Starscream looked on, envious.

“Do you want them assassinated?” Starscream asked. “I can have them assassinated for you.”

Bumblebee blanched. “What? No!”

Starscream threw up his servos. “Then what’s the _point_?” He stalked around Bumblebee, headed for the door. “I can’t deal with you politicians right now. Good thing we’re going to Velocitron, because you two are going to run Cybertron into the ground. _No assassinations_. Ugh.”

Unperturbed, Bumblebee looked back to the mess of wires overflowing in Wheeljack’s servos. “What’s wrong with Metroplex’s optic?” he asked innocently.

* * *

When it finally came time for Starscream and Wheeljack to depart for Velocitron, the last of the debates had ended and Windblade’s victory was all but guaranteed. Wheeljack figured it would be best if Starscream were away from Cybertron at the time of the election. If he wanted to, Wheeljack didn’t doubt Starscream could still pull the right strings to get himself reinstated as Emperor Perpetua. Best then, for the time being, to keep him off Cybertron.

“Thank you,” Windblade mentioned the night before their departure. She, Chromia, Ironhide, and a few other mechs close enough to Starscream that he didn’t protest being in the same room as them had gathered for one last drink. “I really think he needs this.”

Wheeljack shrugged, keeping one optic on Starscream and Bumblebee. Starscream’s jealousy at Bumblebee’s continued involvement in politics had, over the past few cycles, morphed into a deep curiosity that, this evening, finally saw Starscream trying to convince Bumblebee of his methods for dealing with those situations.

“I think he’s been wanting to leave for some time,” Wheeljack mentioned. He didn’t elaborate, but in his mind’s eye he saw the way Starscream would return to their hab after a long day, his wings low and optics dull. He couldn’t help but contrast that with the way Starscream swept about his lab like it was his own. Their conversations about the state of the wiring in Metroplex’s latest failing system always managed to be less stressful than the recounting of Starscream’s latest political machinations.

“After leading an army for four million years, I’d be more than ready to retire,” Windblade said.

“He’s special,” Wheeljack replied.

“You’re a sap,” Windblade retorted, though the glyphs lacked any bite.

Wheeljack couldn’t exactly argue with that.

Wheeljack finally called the night to an end when he noticed Starscream looking contemplatively at Ironhide’s drink, which rested alarmingly close to the edge of the table. Before Starscream could liven up the scene, Wheeljack announced it was time for everyone to head home, as they still had some more packing to do.

Starscream sidled up to Wheeljack’s side to wave everyone off. Between guests, he muttered, “We finished packing five cycles ago.”

That was true. Wheeljack couldn’t help it; he was excited to finally get Starscream all to himself, away from Windblade and Bumblebee and everything else that might sour his mood. Starscream, when removed from the realm of politics, was a surprisingly amicable presence to keep.

“You shouldn’t terrorize Ironhide,” Wheeljack said quietly.

“He threw my desk out the window,” Starscream hissed.

“And I said I would make you a new one.”

Starscream’s wings twitched at his back. Wheeljack had learned to interpret a fair amount of wing-speak, but he didn’t catch enough of the motion to interpret it. “He has you to thank for his life,” Starscream said nonchalantly.

“I’ll remind him of that next time we rack up a tab at Blurr’s.”

Windblade was the last guest to depart. Before Wheeljack could say his goodbyes, she wrapped him in a tight hug. His finials flashed brightly in surprise.

“If you could release _my_ conjunx, it would be much appreciated,” Starscream said.

Windblade did, only to wrap Starscream in a hug next.

Watching the Seeker flounder in her inescapable hold was a sight Wheeljack would treasure for vorns to come. Once he had recovered from the shock, he attempted to flip her onto the ground and break her hold. Windblade slipped away without any damage, and Starscream’s plating was flared unevenly as he glowered at her. From a safe distance away, she said, “I’m so happy for you two. Really. I hope you enjoy yourselves.”

“I hope you enjoy ruining Cybertron my absence,” Starscream replied curtly, resettling his plating.

Her tone became more serious. “I won’t leave you out of the loop, Starscream. We’re still friends. We can still talk about what’s going on.”

Starscream huffed. “Of course you’d want me as an unpaid advisor. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous in my retirement. When you do inevitably need me, I’m available 24/6.”

Windblade frowned. “Don’t you mean 24/7?”

“No. Saturdays are for date-nights with Wheeljack. Honestly, Windblade, don’t you pay attention?”


End file.
